Quandary of the Heart
by snapebelongstome
Summary: Hermione reluctantly returns to Hogwarts to face an uncertain future and the elusive Potions Master. Now that fate has finally brought them together, will their true feelings finally emerge?
1. Regret

Disclaimer: Everything recognizable from the Harry Potter universe belongs to J K Rowling, no infringement is intended to any copyright holder.

A/N: This is the sequel to my first Snape/Hermione story – "And Then She Was Gone". Although it isn't necessary to read the prequel, reading it does help to set up this story. This is only the first chapter… there's more to come. Enjoy.

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Quandary of the Heart

Chapter One: Regret

The whole thing reeked of humiliation.

She was running back to Hogwarts with her tail between her legs like some frightened pup.

There was a time when she was considered to be a credit to her House. Someone who was looked up to. Admired. Embodying all that was brave and loyal.

She scoffed at herself. She was a Gryffindor so why wasn't she behaving like one?

Hermione Granger stopped short of the stone steps leading up to the great oak doors that harbored the famous school of witchcraft and wizardry. Her thin body froze in panic and in fear as her heart beat frantically inside her chest. The young witch had always fired a desire to return to teach at Hogwarts, but not like this.

She was not a charity case.

And yet, that's exactly how she felt.

It was a well-known fact that Albus Dumbledore had a reputation for helping waifs. Hermione's stomach lurched in realization. _Oh god_. Was that how he truly viewed her? Had she really become a know-it-all has-been in need of a second chance? Pulling herself together, she sniffed angrily. There was still one piece of her dignity that remained intact and she would be damned if she'd allow herself to let go of it now.

Raising her chin and holding her head up high, Hermione turned sharply on her heel and marched back over the stone path toward the gates of the school as her blue denim muggle jacket was caught up in the wind from her stride. She would apparate back to London, owl Dumbledore and politely but firmly refuse the position of Charms teacher.

She faltered after a few steps, her resolve dwindling.

Charms.

It really was a dream job. Her dream job. Perhaps, just perhaps she should swallow her pride…

Hermione took a deep breath and slowly exhaled surveying the impeccably groomed school grounds. The grass was rich velvet green, the leaves on the trees and bushes rustled in the breeze while the dark clouds overhead threatened to burst forth, plummeting rain upon her. She scowled slightly thinking it would bloody well serve her right.

Hermione was the first to admit she had botched the last four years of her life. It seemed that the moment she graduated from Hogwarts things began to go down hill rather quickly.

Though if she were to dissect the situation properly, examine the whole thing clinically and get to the basic root of the problem, things began to take a downward spiral long before that. Every day of her entire seventh year to be precise and catapulting the night of her graduation. The night that she forsook all that was Gryffindor. The night that she betrayed the biggest and most sacred secret of her life. A secret that should have remained buried deep within the depths of her heart. A secret that should have remained unspoken and undisclosed _forever_.

Safe. Guarded. Private.

Yet for some unfathomable reason, for a reason beyond any logical explanation, and far beyond her very own comprehension - it didn't.

She told _him._

Him.

Snape.

Professor Snape.

Professor Severus Snape.

Potions Master.

The Head of Slytherin.

The brooding, dark, nasty bastard of a wizard who made her life and the lives of all her friends a living hell for seven years. The sallow-face, mean spirited git who mercilessly insulted her, who never once complimented her or commended her efforts. Who utterly ignored her in class. Who … who on the night of her graduation as his black fathomless eyes melted into hers, whispered in his soft silky voice. _"Well done, Hermione."_

And that was all it took.

He had said _her_ name.

He said her name and the way it rolled deliciously off his tongue made her insides turn to jelly. In those three words he recognized all of her achievements and efforts. He complimented _her_. He had _noticed_ her. Hermione threw her arms around him, wrapping herself tight and willingly losing herself in his midnight robes. She marveled at the feeling of the warmth of the nearness of his body. Then to her surprise and delight - he hugged her back.

And oh, did his arms feel good around her and she knew that was where she was meant to be. She wanted to stay entangled with him _forever_.

Never in her life had she felt so wonderful, content, and accepted. While lost in that moment of ultimate weakness. While caught up in a moment of rare and ultimate stupidity. She told him that she… _loved him_.

Ugh.

What a mistake that was.

And since then, Hermione Granger hadn't been able to forgive herself for behaving like a complete and absolute idiot.

In all honesty, she really couldn't blame all her problems on Severus Snape. The burden of responsibility lay solely with her and the fact that she couldn't keep her big mouth shut. It was her fault and hers alone, that she had felt the need to confess her feelings to him at the most inappropriate and awkward of moments. Him, of all people. The heartless, cruel Professor. Had she no intelligence? Had she lost all common sense? How could she have allowed herself to fall in love with the dreaded Potions Master? The one who was least likely to return her affections and the one who was most likely to throw it all back in her face.

For her foolishness, she deserved no less.

Sneering. Mocking. Making her feel worse than she already did.

She braced herself for the onslaught of a merciless attack.

But it didn't come.

What he did was far worse. Yet, admittedly far better.

He remained silent. Responding neither positively or negatively. Permitting her to say her three pointless little words before releasing her into four years of regret.

By his reaction – or rather lack of one, Hermione was certain that he must have been disgusted by the prospect of being loved by her. That there was no way he could ever or would ever return her feelings. There was no other reason for him to remain silent. It was logical to conclude that he waved the whole thing off as a pathetic schoolgirl crush. No different, she ventured, from what she had on Gilderoy Lockhart several years before. And perhaps, that's all it was. 

She often thought that she should have married Harry.

Or Ron.

Or… anyone.

But then again, no one asked her. She laughed. Who in their right mind would have wanted to be tied down to an insufferable know-it-all? A bookworm. She of all people knew of her own limitations, her own shortcomings. She was not an easy person to like, let alone love. She grimaced as she rubbed her forehead as a vicious headache threatened to takeover. Experience had proved that love was something she was destined to be without. Hermione ran her fingers through her long, chestnut hair. The boys – men – chased her, there was no doubt that they found her attractive, however the instant she opened her mouth and said something intelligent they lost interest.

Except for _him._

Under a veil of dark sarcasm he encouraged her quest for knowledge. Covertly providing her with books to read that sated her hunger yet at the same time increased her desire to learn more. He suffered her long enough to discuss the books, voice her opinion, before pushing her away.

Yet he still ridiculed her. Still sneered. Still scowled. Still despised her.

He had a reputation to uphold.

Or at least, that's what she told herself.

Hermione treasured the times she spent alone in his company. Relishing in the rare moments when he inadvertently let his guard down and she was able to catch a glimpse of the real Severus Snape. Sparks of electricity rushed through her body whenever his hand grazed lightly against hers. Her breath would catch in her chest during those times when she briefly caught passion and fire in black eyes that were normally masked with cold indifference.

He made her mind feel alive. Understood. It was the only time she had ever felt truly connected to another human being. And while both Ron and Harry firmly believed that the Professor was not human, she had other thoughts on the matter. Even if, she smiled ruefully, he didn't always behave like one.

In retrospect, Hermione felt that she shouldn't have returned to the Muggle world so quickly after graduation. At the time she postulated that she was doing it to please her parents, to be able to spend time with them, get reacquainted with each other after years of growing apart. But in truth, she was running from the embarrassment that she had brought down upon herself. That, and a severely broken heart.

However cliché it may be, time heals all wounds.

Almost.

Hermione clenched her jaw and threw her face skyward letting the gentle streaks of sunlight that snaked their way through the black clouds caress her skin. Maybe it wouldn't rain after all.

One can but hope.

Hermione saw him once, a year after graduation, when alongside Harry and Ron she did her part in the fight against Voldemort. Forty-one hours of hell later the Dark Lord had been defeated and amidst the glorious celebrations Hermione Granger discovered that her treacherous heart still battled in a futile war against unrequited love.

__

Damn him.

After what she had been through Hermione had no courage left to face the Potions Master. No strength to feign bravery. No desire to remain only to be rewarded with rejection. With barely a whisper of good-bye to Ron and Harry, and without even a single parting glance to him she left. Willingly returning to a world that was no longer her own, co-existing in a culture that she no longer belonged to. This time the reason for her escape was clear.

She needed to forget about Severus Snape. She needed to get on with her life.

Easier said than done.  
  
Hermione pleasantly discovered that she excelled at drowning her sorrows in books and learning. Although - she licked her lips - a good bottle of wine on a Saturday night didn't go amiss either. Full-time college classes were a blessing, as were boundless correspondent courses. They were everything she needed. In books she found comfort. She understood books. They were incapable of hurting her.

She was lost. She knew so much, yet so little.

Hermione sighed heavily and wiped a small tear that had broken free from her cinnamon eyes. _It didn't matter anymore_, she thought determinably. She gritted her teeth. It was about time that she left the bloody past where it belonged.

So one thousand, five hundred and seven wretched days after she graduated she was back at Hogwarts, the place where it all began.

Her life in shambles. Alone. Lonely. Miserable.

"Oh hell." Hermione muttered to herself. "What have I got to lose?"

She turned back towards the school this time determined to make it past the great oak doors and inside to face an uncertain future.


	2. Avoidance

Disclaimer: Everything recognizable from the Harry Potter universe belongs to J K Rowling, no infringement is intended to any copyright holder.

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Chapter Two: Avoidance

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"A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy" Guy Fawkes

The Gods were definitely not smiling down upon him. Not that Professor Severus Snape could ever recall a time when they had. Nor could he say with any certainty that Gods actually smiled. Scowled maybe. Yes, the Gods were definitely scowling on him _again_ and they had for as long as he could remember.

His miserable, contemptible life had always been - _miserable and contemptible_.

Correction.

Those seven years when she had been part of his life, his lips twitched upward slightly, they weren't _entirely_ miserable and contemptible.

There were moments. Rare and precious moments when he found himself alone in her company. Moments that he had actually sanctioned himself to feel something a little more than - Snape let out a wrathful growl that reverberated throughout his chambers - he would not allow himself to finish that _treacherous_ thought.

Bile built up in the back of his throat as the truth disgusted him to no end. Why in the name of Merlin did she have to come back?

Angry, depressed and very frustrated Snape pounded a clenched fist violently down upon the arm of the leather high-back chair that he had been glued to for the last several hours. He glared viciously at the low burning fire before sighing heavily.

Severus knew he had to face her eventually, knew he had to evict his unkempt, alcohol drenched carcass out from the shelter of his dungeons, knew he had to pretend to loathe every inch of her – perfect body - but he hadn't realized it would be so soon.

He marveled at how successfully he had avoided any type of contact with her during her first five days at Hogwarts. Although five days, in his opinion, wasn't nearly long enough for him to adequately prepare himself for - confronting – her. Especially, he sneered, after enduring four wretched years of….

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Of what?

Of waiting? Of dreaming? Of suffering? Of regret? Of…of bloody well trying to convince himself it was all just an illusion?

Pursing his thin lips together Snape's mind reeled, desperately trying to decide which was the most plausible of explanations. _Maybe,_ he concluded, _none of them were._

In less than twenty minutes, Snape had successfully drained four crystal tumblers full of Ogden's Old Firewhisky – one for every year that _she_ had been gone. In impressive feat in itself since the dark wizard was not in the least bit fond of Firewhisky. Years of drinking the vile beverage after enduring countless Death Eater revels had left him with a distinctly bad taste in his mouth. Since Voldemort's demise Severus imbibed more civilized drinks, something more suiting to a Hogwarts' Professor. Brandy, Sherry, a fine bottle of wine…

But _her_ presence, her invasion into his domain, had made him desperate. What was that quote again? _Ah_. He sneered as he remembered. _A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy..._ Love indeed was a disease. And the remedy, he chortled, the remedy was a totally mind-numbing effect brought on by consuming Firewhisky in grand doses.

Or - so he thought.

Time for a refill.

The inebriated wizard wasn't exactly sure why he had allowed himself to succumb to such a state. Why he was drudging up painful memories that he had long since crushed into silence. Severus was certain that any misappropriated feelings that he harbored over the years for that irritating know-it-all were gone.

__

If, _they had actually existed at all,_ he added.

Snape toasted that particular thought rewarding himself with another mouthful of his drink.

So, he postulated, as he lightly tapped his long elegant index finger against his lower lip, if he no longer had feelings for the girl _(if he indeed ever had them_, he reminded himself again) then why was he behaving like a rejected lover? Snape snorted.

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As if!

The Potions Master mocked himself. Thirty points – no – fifty points _from_ Slytherin for _not_ behaving like a Slytherin.

He moaned loudly._ Gods!_

Even after absorbing several bottles of Ogden's since her arrival, Snape was still no closer to finding an answer to his mutinous behavior. It really was simple. She was not now, nor was she, nor would she ever be part of his life. He had long since accepted that reality. Yet the fact remained that no matter how hard he tried not to think about her, she stayed very much on his mind – albeit at the moment – she was more than a wee bit fuzzy.

Snape topped up his glass with more Firewhisky. Holding up the tumbler to eye level, he admired how the amber tones of the liquid complimented the dying flames from the stone hearth. The professor was amused by how the fire danced elegantly within the spirits reflection...

Small things amuse great minds – when you're intoxicated. Snape knew he was avoiding the obvious.

Facing the Granger girl would subject him to renewed unrealistic desires.

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Unrealistic desires? Snape snorted again.

What kind of insipid dribble was he feeding himself?

"Goddamn Firewhisky!" He muttered throwing the tumbler angrily into the fireplace. The glass shattered within the hearth, flames leapt up hungrily licking the side of the grate as it fed off of the alcohol.

Snape rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He had to admit he was more than mildly curious if she had changed much over the years. The last time he had seen her, she looked a little worse for wear. Battered and bruised from the stand against Voldemort. Even so, she was still unmistakably beautiful. And he was unmistakably in love with her. At the celebration afterwards, she ignored his very existence - not that he was going out of his way to acknowledge hers. Yet when he had finally summed up a convincing pretense and conjured up enough courage to speak with her, she had gone. Once again he had let her slip out of his life.

He was such a fool.

Snape let his head fall against the back of his chair staring blankly up at the stone ceiling. It was probably better that way. What would he have said to her anyhow? What in the name of Merlin was he going to say to her now?

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Nothing, he sneered getting a hold of himself. _Absolutely nothing._

He would not waste one more minute of his precious time. He will not allow himself to pine away over anyone, especially _her_.

With one bleary eye he sought out the phial he had so carefully prepared hours before.

It was time, unfortunately, to somehow make himself halfway presentable for Dumbledore's little pre-term… soirée. Snape's face contorted in disgust. He despised such things. And it was only because Albus Dumbledore had such a twisted sense of camaraderie and affability that he was being _forced_ to attend the infuriating affair.

Professor Snape was not - by any stretch of the imagination - a social creature. He preferred the solitude of his dungeons, the soothing sounds of a bubbling cauldron, the silent intellect of a good book. He possessed no need or desire to seek out extracurricular human interaction. He had no patience for the inane and useless prattle that was destined to bombard him for the entire evening. It was enough to turn his stomach.

And with the prospect of facing that _Gryffindor…_

Snape pulled himself out of his chair and staggered over to the maple bookcase next to the fireplace. He let his hand grope along the length of the shelf until he discovered the phial containing the potion that would bring him back to a harsh, cold and sober reality.

One where he would soon come face to face with - her. The bane of his existence.

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Hermione Granger.

*

Hermione had thought she had handled things quite well.

Considering.

During her first few days at Hogwarts she maintained a fine balance of sanity teetering precariously at times on the edge of a complete emotional collapse. Amazingly enough, she was able to sustain an air of confidence when in the company of the other professors, especially Dumbledore, for it would not bode well to have him knowing of her true condition. Though by the concerned looks he'd been giving her over his half moon spectacles, she wouldn't have been surprised if he did already know. He had yet, however, to say anything to her.

For the most part, Hermione dwelled within the confines of the library finding solace within the pages of the many books that encompassed her, she took respite in her room when in need of sleep and made short appearances at mealtimes to provide her body with nourishment.

She had yet to grace her new office with her presence, but promised herself that it would be something she would tackle first thing the following week.

The new Charms teacher spent the majority of her time creating and editing course outlines. Discovering how best to teach Charms and furnish her students – _her students…that had such a nice ring to it_ – with the best possible education she could provide. Research was something Hermione had always excelled at and she was more than determined to prove herself worthy of the position that Dumbledore had offered her.

Yet no matter how hard she tried, how much she struggled to prevent it from happening, Hermione found her thoughts invariably drifting over to – _him_.

She hadn't seen him, though she knew he was there – somewhere - lurking in the shadows. Skulking in his dungeons.

Avoiding her like the plague.

Perhaps that's exactly what he thought of her. An unwelcome disease. A cancer that had come back to invade his life. Or maybe, just maybe he really didn't care that she was there at all.

The latter was more likely to be true. For the first option would require him to have an actual thought or opinion of her - which she doubted he had - unless of course, it was something derogatory.

She wished she could say the same. It was true that in the last two years he was on her mind less frequently. She had toned her feelings, that she had once believed to be love, down to a wild crush before finally settling reluctantly on warm affection. However, Hermione wasn't sure which emotion would beat its way to the surface when she finally did lay her eyes on her former Professor. She was hoping it would be – warm affection – for it was by far the lesser of three evils. And the easiest on her heart.

The last time she saw the Potions Master, her feelings were still raw and her heart bruised. She reacted badly. Childishly. But since then she had time to heal, to reflect and gain back her inner strength. Now she was fairly certain that she'd be able to face him without falling to pieces. At least that was the plan. Needless to say the whole situation was causing her great turmoil and yet strangely enough Hermione found perverse pleasure in knowing that he couldn't hide from her forever.

Weak kneed, Hermione collapsed onto her oversized canopy bed, burying her face into her pillow. Until it had become an unavoidable and blatant reality, she had been looking forward to seeing Snape again. But now - now she wasn't so sure. In less than two hours time, and after four years of anticipation Hermione would be standing in the same room as Severus Snape.

Breathing the same air.

And the very thought of it terrified her to the very core of her being.

Pulling herself off the bed, Hermione stood in front of her mirror and grimaced as another wave of panic rushed through her. What in the name of Merlin was she going to wear?

Hermione laughed out loud at the ridiculous idea of being so vain. She'd never been one to be overly concerned with her appearance. There'd always been more important things to occupy her thoughts - like books and studying. Yet it still took Hermione a good hour and a half of wardrobe changes before she ultimately settled on a sky blue robe with a white lace trim. She allowed her hair to cascade down with its gentle curl resting just above her shoulders as a golden sapphire pendant given to her by her parents when she graduated from college sparkled elegantly against her neck. Finally, Hermione added only small hints of makeup to her already smooth milky complexion. The intention was not to look overdone, just good enough to let him know exactly what he had been missing.

Hermione paused to make a final inspection of herself in the mirror before leaving for the Great Hall. She smiled at her reflection and even the mirror itself admitted that she looked good. Damn good.

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"Ready or not, Severus Snape," Hermione murmured, _"here I come"._

A/N: Part 3 should be up in a couple of weeks when I return from holidays. Yes, that is when Severus meets up with Hermione…finally!! Thanks to all who reviewed the prequel and part 1. J 


	3. Trepidation

**Chapter 3: Trepidation**

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But to see her was to love her,  
Love but her, and love forever.  
Robert Burns

Oh god.

The eight most dreaded words of the English language, words that were designed to inflict a copious amount of stress, discomfort and ultimate embarrassment on the proverbial single woman. The very words that had just been uttered to her by her former Head of House. _"There is someone I want you to meet."_

Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief. _Surely she couldn't have meant_ - but then - there was a mischievous smile playing across Professor McGonagall's weathered face and a wicked glint in her eyes that Hermione had never seen before. In fact, Minerva McGonagall looked entirely different. Stunning, almost. Her trademark bun didn't seem to be pulled back as tight, gentle wisps of hair teased her long slender neck where the meeting of the lavender robes she wore seemed to soften her features considerably. There was also a definite spring in her step.

Professor McGonagall had practically pounced upon Hermione the instant she stepped foot into the Great Hall. And now the young Charms teacher was being led by the elbow across the room to meet with her - _humiliation._

Hermione would have argued, resisted even, but she was still in shock. The Transfigurations professor was the last person Hermione ever thought who'd resort to playing matchmaker. Dumbledore perhaps, but not her. Yet there was absolutely no doubt in Hermione's mind that that was exactly what Minerva's intentions were. The older witch seemed to be a little more relaxed than usual and Hermione chalked it up to being that she had undoubtedly imbibed a few too many drinks that were slightly stronger than pumpkin juice. Licking her lips, Hermione wistfully thought of doing the same. She needed something - anything that would help ease the tension that was building up inside of her.

It was the same feelings of tension and dread that she had experienced before. Hermione was painfully reminded of the countless times she had reluctantly gone on pre-arranged blind dates set up by her well meaning parents and well meaning friends of her parents just so she could keep the peace at home. Her parents wanted her to meet someone - _nice_. Whether he be muggle or wizard (though they undoubtedly preferred a muggle). They were disappointed by her lack of success. Disasters as Hermione called them. But then, how could they have been anything other than natural born disasters when her heart belonged only to one foul tempered Potions Master?

"Jeffrey, this is Hermione Granger our new Charms Professor," Minerva winked as a young wizard, slightly older than Hermione turned around to face them.

Hermione couldn't help but take an instant liking to him. He had pleasant features. A strong chin, rosy cheeks and a high forehead. His light brown hair was cut short around his ears and he had the gentlest blue eyes she had ever seen. Minerva relinquished her hold on Hermione's arm and pushed forward causing her to stumble slightly. Jeff took Hermione gently by the hand as he steadied her.

"Jeff Burnham," he said and the warmth of his smile radiated onto Hermione causing her to catch her breath in her chest.

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At least, Hermione thought, _Minerva has good taste._

"Jeffery is our Arithmancy Professor. He joined us last year," Minerva smiled coyly as Hermione's cinnamon eyes lit up at the mere mention of Arithmancy. "Our _Miss_ Granger was at the top of her class in Arithmancy when she was a student here," she continued, placing a strong emphasis on the word 'Miss'.

__

Damn it! Hermione's face flushed a bright crimson that rivaled Ron Weasley's hair and she wished fervently for nothing more than for the floor to just open up and swallow her whole. Right then and right there. It was bad enough that McGonagall was introducing her specifically to this – somewhat handsome – young wizard in hopes that they would 'hit it off'. But to purposely point out that she was single, and to accentuate her strong academic qualities as if to make her out to be an attractive package well worth considering made Hermione nauseous.

She had never been so embarrassed - no wait - that wasn't true. Telling Severus Snape that she was in love with him - that _was_ embarrassing. Not to mention asinine.

"I studied advanced Arithmancy in college," Hermione offered, trying to salvage some dignity. "I found it very – erm - interesting." _Ugh! That sounded so lame_… she silently berated herself. She wasn't that nervous, was she?

"Would you like to go get a drink? I wouldn't mind hearing your thoughts on…Oh, Minerva -" Burnham took hold of the Transfigurations Professor's hands and held them tightly within his own tanned ones. "You don't mind if I steal Hermione away for a while, do you?" he asked with a slight lilt in his voice.

"Not at all!" McGonagall beamed, encouraging them to leave as she released her hold on Jeff. With a look of pride etched into her face over her apparent success, she moved to join a rather dour looking Dumbledore.

Burnham led Hermione across the room and handed her a goblet full of white wine. "Minerva was a bit obvious, wasn't she?" he chuckled and the gentle sound of his laughter made Hermione immediately feel at ease.

"I'm sorry about that," she said regretfully.

"No need. I'm just glad to have finally met you," Jeff smiled waving the whole thing off. "She's sent me an owl practically every week for a month raving about you."

"Oh god," Hermione dropped her head as her face again rose to a blush.

"Hey," Jeff placed his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently, "I'm just pleased that you're everything she told me you were." Hermione could feel her cheeks still burning and she drank her wine down rather quickly. He handed her another, "you said you studied Advanced Arithmancy in College?"

Hermione's face split into a grin and she spent the next few minutes discussing with Burnham what she had covered at College regarding the subject. It was the first time in a long time that she'd been able to engage herself in an intellectual conversation with someone and she reveled in it. Her parents were fairly intellectual themselves, but it was rather difficult to discuss advances in potions or the ethical side of transfiguration with dentists.

As Jeff began to gloss over his course outline, the small hairs on the back of Hermione's neck began to prickle as a strange burning sensation overtook her.

It was _him._

He was there – somewhere.

Hermione's body shook with anticipation as she searched the room anxiously with her eyes. Jeff Burnham's words continued flowing towards her, but they fell soundlessly out of existence, failing to penetrate her wall of comprehension. Nothing truly mattered more to Hermione at that moment than finding him - Snape.

*

Professor Severus Snape swore profusely under his breath. Never in his life had he experienced such difficulty attaching the small silver clasp to the collar of his midnight dress robes. The clasp was oval in shape with an engraved image of a snake with two sparkling emerald eyes and three rubies for its slithering tongue. He never wore his dress robes without the clasp and he was not about to make an exception, no matter how troublesome it was proving to be.

There were two possibilities. One being that he was nervous. But he quickly discounted that particular reason for Severus Snape _never_ got nervous. The professor had always taken pride in the fact that he always maintained strict discipline on his emotions. Even when he was facing the Dark Lord himself, he had remained calm. Expressionless. Indifferent. It was necessary to his very survival. So the impending meeting with the dreaded Gryffindor should not give him any cause for nervousness. He growled at himself, _the very idea!_

The only other possibility which remained, was that in his eagerness to submerge himself in yet another bottle of Ogden's Firewhisky he had inadvertently miscalculated the strength of the potion needed to counteract the effects of the alcohol.

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Yes, he concluded weakly, _that had to be the reason._

With trembling fingers he attempted to attach the clasp again. Another loud and colorful curse followed his failure. Snape drew his wand in frustration charming the clasp on tight. Satisfied, he returned his wand to its rightful place inside his sleeve and with an angry swirl of his robes he exited his chambers.

The Potions Master was confident that by standing with his arms crossed, stony-faced and seething with indifference that no one would attempt to intrude in on his personal space. And no one did. Unfortunately, with the close proximity of the other professors, snippets of gossip filled conversations droned mercilessly in his ears making Snape wish adamantly that he had been able to remain drunk and alone in his chambers. He cringed over the meaningless dribble that he was cruelly being subjected to - what they had done over the summer break, who was snogging who, and what their plans were for the upcoming school term.

He just _did not_ care.

So there the dark wizard stood - angry, sulking, the epitome of hostility and determined to have the worst possible evening imaginable. Which considering the circumstances, wasn't going to be that difficult. 

Even before the familiar scent of vanilla permeated its way into his lungs, he could sense her presence. With hooded eyes Snape scanned the room, his heart beating rapidly as he searched her out. When he eventually found her, his lips twisted upwards into a ghost of a smile.

"Hermione," he murmured.

Snape swallowed hard as the truth struck him. He still _loved_ her. He had _always_ loved her. How could he not? Gods! She was so - beautiful.

His body simply ached to be near her. His arms yearned for her tender embrace. His mind craved her intellect. He desired only to lay his lips upon her warm soft ones sealing them in an all consuming kiss before moving down to any other part of her body that warranted such rapt attention. Entwining her spirit, her body and her mind hungrily within his own.

Yet, there was only one, singular emotion that he was capable of evoking out of her, and it definitely wasn't love. Cursing inwardly, Snape scowled darkly with the knowledge that any such action taken by him would surely be met with a cold hard slap in the face. No. He was the cruel, nasty bastard that she despised. He could never and would never be anything more to her than that.

__

But _still…_

He breathed her in, closing his eyes and allowing himself to remember the one and only time he had held her in his arms…

The night of her graduation… a small hand reaching out and grasping his… a smile that was meant only for him… willing arms thrown around him drawing his body tightly against her own while she murmured something inaudible into his robes…

__

In the name of Merlin! He had relived that moment _too_ many times.

When Snape opened his eyes his face contorted into a vicious sneer. _Hermione Granger - chatted up by that – that Arithmancy idiot!_ Snape felt his heart twisting painfully inside his chest. He had always disliked Jeff Burnham. But now he vehemently abhorred him. As far as he was concerned, Burnham was an absolute waste of space and it took all of Snape's self-control not to hex the living hell out of him. The number of house points he deducted alone, the previous term from lovesick teenagers drawing hearts on their potions notes rivaled the number of crushes the year Lockhart was on staff.

"Lockhart," Snape muttered under his breath, "another imbecile."

Snape narrowed his eyes in jealousy at Burnham. How dare _he_ touch her and how dare _she_ blush at his touch.

*

There he was. 

The imposing, sneering figure of Professor Severus Snape, looking exactly as she had remembered. His lank, raven hair hung loose about his shoulders, and his immaculate black robes with only a dash of white at the collar joined by a silver clasp complimented his pale skin.

The instant she discovered him, Hermione's eyes became fused to his dark fathomless pools. At that same moment Hermione found she could no longer breathe. No longer move. And her heart had leapt up into her throat. She knew then beyond a shadow of a doubt the answer to the question that had been haunting her ever since she stepped foot inside of Hogwarts.

It _wasn't_ warm affection she felt for Professor Snape. It was something more. A lot more.

"Hermione? Are you all right?" Jeff asked shaking her gently to bring her back to his side of the world. "Hermione?"

Hermione reluctantly tore herself away from Snape's gaze, she smiled weakly at Jeff. "Yes – er – sorry. You were saying?"

"Albus announced dinner, and if I'm not mistaken," he said, linking his arm in hers, "Minerva has arranged for us to sit together."

Hermione smiled before glancing quickly back over to where Snape had been standing, but he was gone. She felt her heart slowly begin to sink back down into its rightful place, but the intensity of his eyes still made her breathing uneven.

"That's odd," Jeff frowned as they reached the table and he looked closely at the place cards, "I guess we're not sitting beside each other after all."

"It's all right," Hermione sighed, unsure if she was disappointed or not, "we can talk again after dinner."

Burnham nodded taking his place next to Madam Hooch while Hermione moved herself further up the table and found her name on a place card beside Jeremy Waters, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and –

"Ah, Miss Granger," the silky voice of Severus Snape startled her sending shivers down her spine. "It looks as if we're going to be dining companions. I do hope that my presence won't ruin your appetite as much as yours will ruin mine."

It wasn't until he spoke that Hermione realized how she had longed to hear his voice again. To have the dark, melodious, velvet tone melt her from the inside out. His silky voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket on a cold winter's day.

"I'll try and manage," Hermione replied, then with a slight smile, she added boldly. "And it's nice to see you again as well, Professor Snape."

The Potions Master's face remained impassive except for the solitary eyebrow that quirked upwards. "I am at a loss to where you would have received that sort of impression. It certainly wasn't from me for I didn't imply it."

"You haven't changed a bit, Professor," Hermione mused. "Still as obnoxious and arrogant as ever."

"And you are still an insufferable, irritating know-it-all," he hissed in return. Snape suddenly pulled out her chair and Hermione stared at him unsure what to make of it. "You do know how to sit, don't you?" 

"I just didn't think you'd -"

"Obviously you still suffer from that Gryffindor condition of not thinking," he mocked. "I suppose it was naïve of me to believe that you'd have outgrown it by now. Wishful thinking on my part I suppose." 

Hermione narrowed her eyes as she pushed his hand off of the back of her chair. Snape quickly recoiled as if her very touch had burned him. But for Hermione, the feeling of his warm skin against hers sent sparks shooting across her body. She met his eyes and saw them widen slightly and for a moment she saw something unrecognizable in them before they snapped back to their usual darkness.

"I can manage on my own," she said stiffly, holding her head up high.

"Judging from what you've managed or rather not managed to achieve since you graduated, Miss Granger, you could hardly say that was true, now could you?" Snape's voice was like shards of ice that ripped right through her.

Hermione glared at him, then turned away as she sat down. Scraping the wooden chair against the stone floor as she pulled herself in. She couldn't bear to look at him any longer. His words stung. This was not what she had expected. Or was it? It was Snape after all. Perhaps he was finally lashing out at her for what she had said to him the night of her graduation. Was he really that spiteful? Was the thought of her being in love with him really that repulsive? Hermione choked back the bitter tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

As Severus reluctantly slid into the chair beside Hermione, the sleeve of his robe brushed against her arm. Hermione flinched at the contact of the soft material. She turned swiftly, her eyes clamping on to his. Snape almost stopped breathing, surprised by the fire he could see reflected in her eyes. Drawing his robe close around himself he scowled at her before turning pointedly away.

Hermione Granger loathed him. He had just seen it in her eyes. That much he was certain. He would continue to wage a relentless war to ensure that she would never feel anything short of ill will towards him. For it was easier he believed, to live with her hatred, than to live with the hope that she would ever reciprocate his feelings. Glancing down at her slender fingers as she toyed nervously with her meal, he fought the overwhelming temptation to comfort her, to slip her hand into his own like she had done so many years ago. _Bloody, bloody hell!_ He snarled inwardly. She was an absolute torment on his very soul. This was not going to be easy.

The spicy, earthy scent that she had remembered so well to be his, and his alone overwhelmed her senses. The electricity from their touch continued to radiate from her fingers causing her hands to tremble and it was nothing short of pure torture to be so close to him. To be so near and not be able to express feelings that were screaming to be released. Hermione wanted to tell him how much she had missed him and longed for his companionship. How she wanted to recapture the intimacy of the minds they had once shared. To feel his strong arms around her, to hear him whisper her name seconds before he captured her mouth with a kiss was a deep-rooted desire she had long wished for.

But to pour out her heart, lay it on the table for the bitter Potions Master to dissect, mock and renounce was not something Hermione was readily willing to do. She had placed her fate in his hands once before and was still suffering the consequences because of it. To allow history to repeat itself would only wreck havoc on every fiber of her being. If only they could somehow regain the tepid, fragile and unspoken friendship they shared in her seventh year. She might have a chance. Gods! Why did love have to be so difficult and why did he have to be so complicated?

Damn him! __

Damn her!

Snape swept out of the Great Hall with his black robes billowing out behind him. He had stayed long enough. He had made his obligatory appearance, ate his dinner and to remain any longer in the same room with – her – would have been nothing short of cataclysmic.

The scent of her perfume clung heavily in the air around him. His hand still tingled from where she had touched him. She plagued his mind and his heart. Snape felt physically ill.

Hermione had sat beside him throughout the entire meal pushing the peas violently around her plate not uttering a single word except when she asked him to pass the salt. Which he did - begrudgingly - of course. And the only time she looked remotely in his direction was when she glanced down the table to accept disgustingly sympathetic looks from Burnham.

Snape listened in on her limited, yet polite conversation with Waters, another professor for whom he had no use. It was however, the first time that he could recall being pleased with Dumbledore's choice for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. Waters was a wizard of indeterminate number of years with considerably more hair in his ears and on his oversized knuckles than on his head. His neck was as thick as his brogue, and his wit as slow as they come. Professor Waters was certainly not someone Hermione Granger would be attracted to, Snape thought smugly, so that left only one eligible wizard on staff to worry about. Burnham.

"Professor Snape!"

Severus' heart clenched. It was her. He had almost made his escape. He steeled himself as he turned to face Hermione.

"We need to talk," she blurted out less eloquently than she hoped.

Snape folded his arms across his chest and arrogantly looked down his long nose at her. "Miss Granger I daresay that you sat next to me during the entire dinner and did not bother to utter even a single word to me. Except a request for me to pass the salt. So why now when I am on my way to my chambers, after a very tiresome evening, do you find the sudden need to talk to me?"

Hermione hesitated as an involuntary shiver tore through her and she half expected him to deduct house points for what she had done.

"Well?" he roared, bestowing a wrathful glare upon her. "Speak up girl!"

Hermione's blood began to boil. A scathing retort jumped to the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. "Never mind," she said fiercely through clenched jaws, "I am sorry to have bothered you _Professor_."

Snape scowled at her, and nodded curtly as if accepting her _apology_ was both tedious and painful while ignoring the blatant insincerity of it. He did not, however, make any attempt to offer her an apology of his own. No, he would never do that. Without another word the professor stiffly turned his back on his former student and swept down the corridor towards the dungeons.

Hermione numbly watched until his midnight robes vanished completely into the blanket of darkness. A mixture of unrequited feelings surged throughout her body. Hurt, disappointment, ire - she would need to sort through them all logically – but not tonight. Tonight she was too tired, too confused, too - Hermione rubbed her eyes and was surprised to feel moisture on the tips of her fingers. She took a deep breath deciding to allow one dominant emotion to overtake her - anger.

Severus Snape was a malevolent, overgrown – bastard – and she loved him.

"Double damn him!" she cursed.


	4. Denial

Chapter 4: Denial

  
_The world is made up for the most part of fools and knaves.  
George Villiers_

Professor Severus Snape's lips twisted up into an evil smirk. He had successfully faced the _Granger_ _demon_ and came out virtually unscathed. Victorious, even. With the use of a few well-chosen words he had put that irritating little _witch_ back in her place proving to her that he was still the unapproachable, unpleasant, unpopular Potions Master. A force not to be reckoned with. A wizard to be _avoided_. And judging by the look on her face, Hermione Granger was not about to forget that lesson any time soon.

Severus unhooked the small silver clasp and shrugged off his dress robes. He returned the heirloom to its resting-place inside a polished ebony box, which he set carefully on the top shelf of his maple bookcase. Snape slowly began to unbutton his high collared white shirt revealing the soft, pale skin of his lean chest underneath. The Professor paused mid-way down, reached for his wand and used it to light a roaring fire in the hearth. Raking his hand through his raven hair Snape dropped himself into a chair, his long legs stretching out in front of the fire as regret inevitably began to seep in.

Perhaps he had been a little too harsh. Perhaps he should have let Hermione Granger have her say. But what in the name of Merlin would have made her chase him half way down the corridor in the first place? What could have been so damn important?

Snape snarled arrogantly. He knew the _real reason_. It was obvious now that she was a _Professor_ she no doubt wanted to instruct him on how _he_ should teach his classes. The impertinent chit! Or moan over how _he_ had been too rough on her precious Potter and Weasley. Insolent Gryffindor! Maybe there was the remote possibility that it was more innocent than that. Even so it didn't matter, he'd never know the real reason now – not that he cared - his ill treatment of her guaranteed him of that.

The half-empty bottle of Firewhisky on the oak table next to his chair caught his angry eyes. Snape hesitated slightly before reaching for the bottle. But once he had it firmly in his grasp he smiled ruefully. Now he could finally drink himself into oblivion and not have to worry about sobering up for a good long time. A gentle rapping on the door prevented him from pursuing the Firewhisky further. Snape growled inwardly, it had to be Dumbledore, no one else ever came to see him. _Thank the gods_.

"Albus, what a surprise," Snape murmured sarcastically as he stepped back to allow the Headmaster to enter his quarters.

"I'd love some of that Firewhisky you've got open, Severus," Dumbledore grinned. " I don't think I've had a drop since you, Sirius Black and I polished off three bottles of it when Voldemort was defeated." Snape poured Dumbledore a glass and handed it to him. He had long since given up trying to figure out how the old wizard knew about everything that was going on at Hogwarts. He just did. "We got quite rambunctious that night, didn't we?" Albus continued merrily.

Snape snorted. "There are words to describe me and I can assure you that _rambunctious_ is not one of them."

The Headmaster chuckled. "Perhaps, Severus you should tap into your inner child. It would do you good to get rambunctious once in awhile." Snape rolled his eyes at his old friend. Just the thought of it turned his stomach

"So what is it that you want?" Snape asked sourly. "I highly doubt that this is a social call."

"And why is that so hard to believe?" Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled beneath his half-moon spectacles. He wasn't put off by the younger wizard's abrupt behavior in the least, he had known Severus since he was a child and knew it was all part of his - _charm._

"Because you have only made three unannounced late night visits to my chambers in the last four years," Severus sighed. "The first being the night Potter graduated, the second the aforementioned night of Voldemort's demise and now tonight." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know there's a pattern here somewhere, but I am too tired and strangely enough my migraine inhibits my desire to solve the puzzle." Snape picked up his glass and carelessly topped it up with Firewhisky before falling back into his chair spilling a portion of the alcohol on his stark white shirt. "Bloody hell!"

Albus took the seat opposite Snape and rolled the tumbler gently between his wrinkled hands warming the liquid inside. It hurt him to see his friend in pain, seeing him suffer in a self-inflicted misery when the obvious solution was so very near at hand. If only Snape would allow himself to believe in the possibility of love.

The old wizard leaned forward, his long white beard curling up on the floor at his feet. "There was a muggle named George Villiers who once said that _'_The world is made up for the most part of fools and knaves'."

Snape yawned widely hoping Albus would take the hint and leave before shoving the nauseatingly well-intentioned and unwanted advice down his throat. "I am not familiar with that quote. However," he sneered, "I assume this _is_ leading somewhere."

"I have been both, Severus," Dumbledore replied sharply, his eyes growing serious. "A knave when I needed to be and a fool -" his voice softened slightly with emotion, "a fool more often than I care to remember, especially when it came to matters of the heart."

"Your point, Albus," Snape snapped coldly through gritted teeth. The Headmaster's tendency to be vague or worse, talk in riddles irritated him to no end.

"My point is that finding a kindred spirit is rare. You have been fortunate enough to have found yours."

Snape took a long sip of his drink before setting his tumbler on the side table and looked at the Headmaster impassively. "Alas, I must admit that the sagacity of your revelation has eluded me for I've absolutely no inkling to what it is that you're talking about."

"I think you do, Severus," Albus said flatly. He downed the Firewhisky and smiled sadly at Snape. "Fate has already graciously given you two opportunities which you have turned your back upon and I am afraid, my friend," Dumbledore rose setting his glass down next to the bottle of Ogden's, "that if you so foolishly pass up this third opportunity then you will not be given another."

Snape remained seated as Dumbledore glided effortlessly towards the door. "Not only is the world made up of fools and knaves," the Potions Master's silky tone carried easily across the room, "but of meddlesome Headmaster's as well."

Dumbledore met Snape's scowl with a slight bow before exiting in a flourish of brightly colored robes hoping that his young friend would heed his words.

Snape wasn't sure how long he sat staring mindlessly into the fire after Dumbledore had left, but it was long enough for it to turn into low burning embers. During all of which the Headmaster's words kept haunting, reverberating painfully in his head.

__

Kindred spirit... Found yours...Turned your back...Not be given another...

He ran a long hand over his tired face. It was nonsense, all of it. He did not believe in such things. Life, especially his life just did not work that way. Taking a deep breath, he indulged himself for a moment for _if he did believe,_ then who would this so-called kindred spirit be? Snape tapped his index finger thoughtfully against his chin. There must be some sort of connection between Dumbledore's midnight visits and his pathetic words of wisdom - Severus suddenly froze as the answer struck him with intense clarity. Surely not _her._ It couldn't be _her._ That would mean that the gods were - could they actually be smiling down upon _him_? Snape shook off that thought as quickly as it had come. Foolishness. Absolute foolishness. Complete and utter bunk!

He needed rest. Standing up he reclaimed his glass of Firewhisky raising it to his lips. But something made him stop and Snape impulsively threw the contents of the tumbler into the fireplace. Dying flames instantly were brought back to life - in a short lived blaze of glory.

Snape stalked over to his personal storage cupboard at the back of his chambers. Opening the oak doors he pulled out a dreamless sleep potion, downing it quickly hoping that in the morning he would wake up and discover this was all just a bad dream. As he headed for his bedchambers, he somehow he doubted it, Severus Snape was _never_ that lucky.

A week had passed since the _disaster_ as Hermione not so affectionately called it with Snape. The events of the encounter rumbled endlessly through her mind and she found herself constantly assessing and reassessing what had gone wrong. What she had done wrong. It had, in fact, taken several days just for her to calm down enough to allow her anger to dissipate to the point that she was able to think about Severus Snape without wanting to hex the living hell out of him.

Hermione sat cross-legged on top of the large, worn wooden desk in the Charms classroom letting her elbows rest on her knees and cradling her face in her hands. Professor McGonagall had encouraged her to redecorate the Charms classroom to better fit her needs and to accommodate her teaching style. Hermione's heart sank as her eyes drifted sadly around the room. What was her style? Hopefully that would be something she'd discover once she started teaching – in less than two days time. But for now it seemed almost sacrilegious to change the classroom of one of her favorite Professors and perhaps by leaving it as it was, it would provide her with some sort of level of reassurance that she so desperately needed. 

From the moment Hermione returned to the school of witchcraft and wizardry she was struck by a wave of nostalgia. A floodgate of memories crashed over her leaving the young witch feeling like a pebble that had been washed upon a familiar yet somewhat hostile shore. Hermione found herself missing Harry and Ron more than she ever had in her life. It was so strange to be at Hogwarts and not have them nearby. At times she could almost swear she could hear their voices discussing Quidditch or Wizarding chess while she was lying in bed at night in the solitude of her room. Or she would suddenly catch their shadows on the walls along the corridors that lead towards the Gryffindor tower. She once found herself staring morosely at the spot where Harry had kissed her after she had trod on his foot while they were both underneath his invisibility cloak.

How long had it been since she'd seen them, much less speak with them? Regrettably, it was her fault that they had drifted apart. Both Harry and Ron valiantly tried to keep in touch but she ignored their efforts. She had become so focused on her own inner turmoil that she lost track of what was really important. Friendship. For seven years they were the inseparable trio. The best of friends who had shared so much together, both the good and the bad. Her thoughtlessness and indifference had destroyed all that. Hermione blinked back the tears as she resolved to try and make amends; maybe it wasn't too late to salvage what they once had.

But until then, Hermione was thankful for Jeff Burnham. He seemed able to help fill in the void created by the absence of Harry and Ron as well as providing her with a welcome distraction keeping her mind from over-analyzing her relationship – or rather lack of one with Professor Snape.

If someone were to ask Hermione to honestly describe her ideal man, then all the qualities that Jeff Burnham possessed would leap instantly to the forefront: intelligence, kindness, humor and the incessant love of books and learning. But even though he embodied all those qualities that she deemed necessary to create the perfect man, there was still something missing.

Their friendship had blossomed surprisingly quickly over the course of the week. Easing into a routine consisting of sitting next to each other at meal times and taking long walks in the evenings around the lake. Every time McGonagall saw them together her face would practically glow. It was no secret that she felt that the handsome Arithmancy Professor was the right man for her favorite Gryffindor.

Although Burnham hadn't even attempted to push their relationship any further than friendship, Hermione could see the beginnings of tell tale signs that what he wanted was something more than a platonic relationship. Burnham had the same glassy eyed look that Ron Weasley had all throughout their seventh year and it was the look that she desperately wished she could see reflected in the black obsidians of Severus Snape. The day, however, would arrive where she'd need to wave off Jeff's inevitable advances by explaining to him that she was in love with the cranky old bat of a Potions Master. Hermione snorted loudly. She doubted Jeff would believe her. Hell, at times she could hardly believe it herself.

"Now that snort certainly wasn't very lady like." 

Hermione jerked her head up quickly and saw Jeff standing in the doorway grinning at her. She unfolded herself from the desk and deftly landed on the floor. She arched an eyebrow at him while placing her hands on her hips. "I don't recall asking your opinion over what is lady like and what is not, Professor Burnham."

"Ah, it's Professor Burnham now is it? Hmm?" Jeff moved towards her. "Will you please ask that lovely Hermione Granger that I had lunch with not more than two hours ago to show herself? This snarky version is too much like that dreadful Professor Snape."

Her foolish heart leaped at the mere mention of Snape's name. Hermione carefully schooled her expressions and hoped her voice didn't forsake her feelings. "Professor Snape isn't dreadful at all, he's actually -"

"Rude and repugnant, and those are his redeeming qualities," Jeff broke in. "Yes I know, and speaking of which, if we don't get ourselves down to the staff meeting right away all the good seats will be taken and _you'll_ end up having to sit next to him. And believe me," he continued with a smirk, "no one in their right mind would willingly sit next to Snape anytime, let alone at a staff meeting."

As it turned out Burnham could not have been more correct. Even arriving a good fifteen minutes early hadn't guaranteed them – in Burnham's view - a spot far enough away from Snape's usual chair, a Louis the Fourteenth - furthest from the fireplace and closest to the door. Hermione looked wistfully at the chair feeling a strange pang deep inside her chest. If only the Professor was already there, seated, drinking tea and waiting for the staff meeting to start then she wouldn't be feeling so utterly and nauseatingly tense. If only he had arrived before her, then she would not need to constantly glance at the door with her stomach churning and chewing desperately on her lower lip like a child awaiting the arrival of an angry parent. 

The question that burned most in Hermione's mind was whether or not she would be able to maintain control over her emotions when she saw Snape again. Would she be able to keep her cool exterior while the rest of her body was wreaking havoc on her heart? Hermione rubbed her temples, her head was spinning and she felt a migraine coming on. 

Burnham watched Hermione through a veil of curiosity. It was apparent to anyone who cared to notice that the young teacher was a bundle of nerves, yet he was at a loss to what could've brought on her sudden bout of neuroticism. Rubbing his smooth chin thoughtfully, he doubted that it had anything to do with it being her first staff meeting, which in his opinion, was more likely to make one drowsy than anxious. Surely there was much more to it than that and he would make a point of questioning her about it afterwards. Jeff placed a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder informing her he would get her some tea. 

With a great amount of trepidation, Snape knew that his latest bout of Granger free days was abruptly about to come to an end. For the past week he had purposely avoided her by sealing himself off from the rest of the castle. He had holed himself up in his private lab preparing a variety of potions needed by Madam Pomfrey for the upcoming school term. He completed lesson plans for the entire first through seventh year curriculums and his potions storage room had never been better stocked or organized. Snape ate his meals in the solitude of his chambers, venturing out of the dungeons only when he was sure that he would not come in contact with anyone, especially Miss Granger.

Throughout his self-imposed imprisonment, Snape did not allow himself even a moment to consider Dumbledore's words. In his opinion it was all just simply mislaid advice. Unwanted, unneeded and certainly undeserved. Even though Snape highly respected the Head of Hogwarts, he knew that even the great Albus Dumbledore wasn't infallible, and in this instance, he was dead wrong.

Granted, with the exception of a select few, the world did seem like it was made up of fools. Gods, every year his classroom was full of such dunderheads. But at the same token, _it doesn't do well to dwell on dreams_. Perhaps Dumbledore would benefit from following the same piece of advice that he had surely given out more than once and to more than just Potter. Because if Dumbledore thought for one moment that pursuing that particular Gryffindor girl was not an imbecilic dream – then more the fool he. For Severus Snape did not dwell on dreams. Hermione Granger was a dream. Hermione being his kindred spirit was a dream. He would not dwell on it. He would not dwell on her. Let Albus and his advice be damned!

Black robes billowed out behind him in the wake of his quick strides as Snape made his way through the draughty corridors toward the staff room. Contrary to popular belief, Snape didn't abhor staff meetings he merely _tolerated_ them. In his view they were nothing more than annoying inconveniences taking him away from time that could be better spent performing research, or burying his nose in the latest edition of Alchemist Monthly. His mood was always purposely raw and in doing so, the other professors gave him (much to his own satisfaction) a wide berth during these incommodious meetings. He had his space and he had his chair, but to put a finer point on it, he came to the staff meetings for the warm biscuits, tea and because Dumbledore required it of him.

This time, however, it was different. This time it marked the beginning of a whole new series of horrendously painful Monday afternoon staff meetings now that Miss – er – Professor Granger would be in attendance. Snape literally cringed at the thought and his palms began to sweat. He was not looking forward to seeing her again. Yet, deep down he knew he desired nothing more than to feast his starving eyes upon her. 

Burnham passed Hermione a steaming cup of tea and a warm biscuit, which only marginally cheered her spirits but did nothing for her nerves. She had barely downed the biscuit when the object of her anticipation arrived and as he stormed passed her, Hermione caught the faintest hint of spice in the air. It was enough to make her heart go wild.

The Headmaster made his way to the front of the staff room as the livid Potions Master lowered his lean body into his chair glaring viciously at anyone who dared to look his way. Dumbledore was both unruffled and amused at Snape's behavior. It was Snape's usual performance, however Dumbledore felt that this time the hostility was intended more for Hermione's benefit than for anyone else's. Albus smoothed down his royal blue robes before clearing his throat. When he had the attention of all the professors in the room he commenced the meeting by welcoming everyone to the start of the new school term.

Hermione took a deep breath and risked a glance over at Snape. Her skin instantly flushed as his glittering black eyes met hers. Her pulse quickened and she yearned to be able to break down the barriers surrounding his heart, desperately wishing she knew what it would take for him to let her in. Then in a brief moment of strength, Hermione braved a small smile.

Severus' heart thundered inside his chest. Her actions caught him entirely off guard. She had _smiled_ at him and it was not what he was expecting. It wasn't logical that she should show him kindness after his callous treatment of her. But then he should have learned by now to expect anything outside the norm when it came to Hermione Granger. Gods, he was sorely tempted to return her smile, but what would have been the use in that? The Head of Slytherin smiling like a simpleton at a whelp of a Gryffindor? He hardened his heart not daring to expose himself as a lovesick fool, especially when the love he felt was unrequited. Snape sequestered himself deep inside the safety of his well-built armor reciprocating her smile with the darkest and foulest of scowls.

It was as if he had brutally slapped her in the face, and perhaps if he had it would have been less painful. Hermione had bestowed upon him a sign of a truce, a proposal of friendship and he rebuked her offer without consideration, without hesitation. The bitter sting forced her to turn sharply away, her heart crying out in despair. The natural need for comfort caused Hermione to move closer to Burnham, who eagerly welcomed the gesture. Jeff smiled warmly at her, openly placing his hand on top of hers and squeezing it affectionately.

Snape gritted his teeth and gripped the arms of his chair with such force that his knuckles turned white. He barely restrained himself from splattering the Arithmancy professor against the wall. Pain ripped through his heart. Snape narrowed his eyes before closing them in defeat. It was pointless.

If Hermione Granger wanted that buffoon, then she could bloody well have him.


End file.
